


little things, to be brushed away

by RaisingCaiin



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (i guess? who knows), (sort of?), (yes i can), Body Horror, Body Modification, Body Worship, D/s, Dubious Consent, Embodiment is an alien concept, First Time, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Torture, Lord/Vassal Kink, M/M, Painplay, Rough Body Play, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Service Submission, holy shit i wrote another chapter time for some new tags, i cannot believe that this is how i'm starting 2018, the Ainur are weiiiiird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-04 23:34:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13375431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaisingCaiin/pseuds/RaisingCaiin
Summary: Rumors are nasty things, especially when one is unsure whether one wants to believe them or not.But Mairon has never been the type to pass up new knowledge.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Morgause1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgause1/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Dark Webs](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13133067) by [Morgause1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgause1/pseuds/Morgause1). 



> Morgause, I have not been able to get "Dark Webs" out of my head, so this little thing has been sitting on my poor hard drive for almost two weeks
> 
> both blame and thanks are due to you <3

Mairon thought he must burst, when he first heard the rumor.

The Lord of the World had once had a Queen?

He attempted to discount the murmurs, of course. What did the Valaraukar know, anyway? And, even if they _did_ happen to possess some scrap of knowledge that Mairon himself did not – _Mairon! Their Lord’s right hand, and the one to whom He entrusted all of import!_ – who was to say that it was accurate, and not just the twisted mutterings of some jealous underling who begrudged Mairon his hard-earned station?

But the rumor, once introduced to his active mind, was there to stay, and his attempts to dislodge it were feeble, half-hearted, at best.

He was Mairon – he strove for efficiency, order, and for that he needed accuracy, information.

He needed to know more. He needed to _know_.

Who had She been? Why had She been deemed fit for the Lord of the World, and to what ends?

But he could hardly dignify Gothmog and his ilk with a direct questioning, of course. And so Mairon bided his time, waiting. He hardly knew what opportunity he might be waiting for, but he imagined that he would recognize it when he saw it.

And then he did.

The Lord of the World had long made a habit of ending strategic meetings with an offer of reward for whichever of His subordinates might feel that they had served Him particularly well in the time elapsed since the last. It was an arrangement that He seemed to have picked up during His parole, learned from the Children in the West and their funny little forms of attempted governance, but here, His subjects quickly learned, His version of that system came with its own little twists. Singling oneself out for reward, after all, meant singling oneself out for His attention and claiming that one deserved it, which –

Well. If He disagreed with one’s assessment of their own worth, then that one might discover how they would really rather not have His attention after all.

Few had dared to stand and attempt to claim His offer after seeing what became of those who did. And Mairon, though sure of his own worth, had never tried himself – not for fear of public immolation, of course, but in the surety that serving the Lord of the World was reward enough in itself.  

And yet. What if Mairon’s request were a reward not for himself? Surely that would pique the Lord of the World’s interest.

And if it did not?

Well. Then at least he would _know_ , and he would count any pain, any sorrow accrued in the pursuit as his due price for having gained that knowledge.

Plan thus set, Mairon made his preparations.

And waited.

 

~ ~ ~

The meeting began, and proceeded, and concluded, as usual. Then, just as Mairon was set to dismiss the assembled captains, the Lord of the World lifted one great, blackened talon in silent command.

Mairon, obedient, waited.

 **ARE THERE ANY WHO** **WOULD COMMEND THEMSELVES TO ME.**

From the shifting of feet, it seemed not.

Well. It was now or it was never. Mairon drew in a deep breath.

 “I would, my Lord.”

Today the Lord of the World was sharpness. Jagged and severe, His claws clicked rapid tempos against the arms of His throne; chitinous and cast in shadow, several legs curled over the back of His throne, and many more, stirring with anticipation, rose shivering from the darkness at Mairon’s pronouncement. His eye, blinding and white as the void of the Silmarilli, never blinked, and when He turned Himself to regard Mairon, its gaze was piercing cold.

 **THOU, MINE ADMIRABLE ONE.** One lone talon reached out for his face.

Like as not, the possessive meant nothing to the Lord of the World, but to Mairon, it meant a great deal indeed. He willed his body not to stir, not to succumb to the animal instincts of flight, as he was surrounded on three sides by the Lord of the World. The only way out now was back, and Mairon refused to step back.  

“Yes, my Lord.”

 **WHAT WOULDST THOU CLAIM MERITS MINE COMMENDATION**.

The talon was sharp, and cold, against his brow.

“For Your consideration, I claim all that I have done in service of You. I left the one who assumed my obedience without establishing his mastery of me, the one who would not have used my skills to their greatest extent. I kept faith when a false sentence compelled You to leave Your great workings to my stewardship. And ever have I maintained Your legions, Your armories, Your hidden cities.”

**AND THOU WOULDST BE REWARDED FOR SUCH FAITHFUL SERVICE.**

The talon tapped about his eye, as if testing its resilience, before smoothing a path down further still, toward his throat. But Mairon was not afraid.

 “No, my Lord. Serving You is reward enough for me. Instead, I would beg Your indulgence to reward _You_ , in however poor a fashion is open to me.”  

The talon traced the smile that Mairon could feel spreading across his face, as if the Lord of the World were curious what such a movement might mean, but Mairon ignored the damage reports from his body’s receptors when its tip came away wet with blood.

**MINE INDULGENCE IS GRANTED.**

The talon disappeared back into the darkness accompanied by chitters of satisfaction, and Mairon smiled and smiled.

 

~ ~ ~

In the process of considering the rumor, and debating whether to question it, and then planning out means to deal with whatever he eventually learned, Mairon also discovered a terrible truth about himself: he was no longer quite the faithful lieutenant that he had always known himself to be.

How else to explain that sudden surge of rage, when he first learned that the Lord of the World had once known an equal? It was a comparable fury to that which Mairon had felt upon learning that the Lord of the World had once pursued fickle Arien, and it _should not have existed_ , for would not either of these partners have improved His pleasure, increased His satisfaction, enhanced His glory?

And should a faithful lieutenant not applaud – no, actively seek – such benefits on his Lord’s behalf?

But Mairon found that he hated the thought of them, this missing Queen and Arien alike, and _he knew not why._

Then, to his increasing agitation, further reflection had revealed odder facets still. For in both instances, Mairon discovered, his anger stemmed as much from the thought that _any_ could serve the Lord of the World in such an intimate way, as it did from the thought that any might dare presume themselves His equal.

Oh.

Such anger served no logical purpose that he could determine, but there it was, and Mairon knew that he would have to design further tests to discover its root cause, as well as how that defect related to his eroding service to the Lord of the World.

But those were tests for another time. For now, other pursuits awaited him.

 

~ ~ ~

Mairon had no set chambers, for he needed neither rest nor refreshment as the Children did, but he had appointed rooms to be prepared and set aside for just this possibility, and it was to these that he led the Lord of the World when His assent had been secured.

**THOU HAST GIVEN MUCH THOUGHT TO THIS.**

“I have,” Mairon admitted. There was no shame in this particular part of his new discovery, he justified to himself – there was nothing odd, or faithless, in this desire to see his Lord offered all that was most luxurious and comfortable of what the North had to offer. So he slipped ahead through the towering doors, large enough that the Lord of the World needed not diminish His form to enter them, and with quick steps, surveyed the length of the chambers within. Good. All had been made, and brought, and placed, to his specifications – the great vaulted ceiling stripped of its lights, the floors laid out with soft dark fabrics, the walls hung with chains, the hearth enlarged and lit, and –

and a great bed, sumptuous with coverings in the style of the Children in the West, made to stand unabashed and evident, directly across from the fire.

 **AND FOR MINE BENEFIT, THOU CLAIMS’T**. The Lord of the World did not quite follow Mairon in his last-minute inspections, but explored the length of the chambers to His own satisfaction.

“Yes.” Mairon, his own examination completed, watched with rising hope as the Lord of the World poked into the chains and scuffed His claws against the floor. “I had it all made for You.”

He would not explain his hopes for these constructions, he would wait and he would see what the Lord of the World took away from the gift, he would –

**THOU WOULDST HAVE ME BED THEE.**

A shiver wracked Mairon’s frame, and a desperate sound escaped his treacherous throat before he could catch it. The Lord of the World turned at the noise, and Mairon could only gasp at the temerity of his own words.

“I would offer myself to You, yes.”

But the Lord of the World did not seem repulsed.

 **MINE REWARD. FOR TRUSTING THEE.** Legs skittering for purchase both on and off the material plane, He came forward, til He loomed so near that they were almost touching.  

The very breath in Mairon’s lungs scalded him with every inhalation. “Should You find me pleasing, Lord, and choose to tolerate such skills as I offer.”

**AN ODD NOTION OF REWARD. THOU HAST NOT BEDDED ANOTHER, MINE ADMIRABLE ONE.**

Mairon chose not to wonder whether this was a question or a statement. “No, my Lord. But, lest You imagine that I could not please You for it, I have studied.” The chains along the wall had been full, and tested to the utmost of their strength, even up until the day’s very meeting. “And I beg you will forgive me the audacity, but – You, my Lord?”

The Lord of the World seemed – amused?

**NOT IN THIS FORM.**

His missing Queen, then. Here was Mairon’s chance to learn the truth, but – so close to the Lord of the World Himself, Mairon found himself wondering whether he really needed to take it. Perhaps there were forms of knowledge that he did not want to have, after all. . .

No. He needed to know, if only so that he could understand his own new-discovered failings better. 

“There was – another, my Lord?”

**THOU HAST SEEN HER. MINE ACCOMPLICE IN DARING AND RECOVERY.**

No. No. No no no. . .

As if mocking Mairon’s shock, the recovered Silmarilli winked from their place atop His crown.

**THOU ART DISPLEASED.**

No, Mairon was _furious_. That strange mad anger he had identified before was only stoked by learning who it was that had been named equal to the Lord of the World – who it was that the One must have planned to stand alongside the Lord of the World in His rightful reign.

She had threatened Him! She had betrayed Him! If not for Mairon’s intervention with the Valaraukar, She would have stolen His Silmarilli!

This was not how one treated one’s intended, let alone the Lord of the World!

The spark at the center of Mairon’s being threatened to light infernos.

**NO, NOT DISPLEASED – JEALOUS. O MINE ADMIRABLE ONE.**

But his mind was wandering. He could not afford that, not now. “Forgive me,” he managed to say, forcing the words out around what felt like a knot in his vocal cords. “I do not know this word, my Lord, and it is hardly my place to pass judgement upon those of Your order.”

 **IT IS NOT,** the Lord of the World agreed.

“This was foolishness.” Bent upon containing that internal fire, Mairon’s voice had burned away to the merest rasp. “I did not know, my Lord, that it was She formerly of the Valier who was Your intended, though I do not know how I could have imagined a lesser Queen.” Mairon himself was nothing, compared to that – temerity, again, and the very height of imprudence, to have even dreamed otherwise. “I cannot beg Your clemency loud or long enough, my Lord, for presuming as I have.”  

But.

The Lord of the World had not moved away, and another of His talons slipped beneath Mairon’s chin to raise his fallen head.

**PRESUMPTUOUS THOU ART, BUT NOT DISPLEASING TO ME.**

It – not displea – _what_?

**CONTINUE AS THOU WERT. SHOW ME WHAT REWARD THOU WOULDST HAVE OFFERED ME.**

He would never have dreamed. . . “My- my Lord?”

**THOU SHOULDST KNOW MINE RIGHT NAME.**

His – His Name? Of course Mairon knew His Name, but – He would permit such familiar address? 

“My Lord?”

 **MELKOR**.

As if Mairon did not know that, as if Mairon had not clutched that knowledge deep within his very core, as if Mairon had not in his darkest moments wondered whether he would ever dare whisper that Name aloud!

“ _My Lord_ _Melkor_.” His body felt as though it must melt, flesh and bone as it was.

**YES. WHAT WOULDST THOU HAVE ASKED OF ME NEXT.**

The knot that had tied itself of Mairon’s vocal cords seemed only to worsen. His former plan seemed so silly, so inadequate, faced with the truth of the Lord of the World’s former Queen and the depths of Mairon’s own folly, but it was the only plan he still had, and his mind was in no shape to supply him with another upon such spectacular notice. Mairon would have to make do.

“I would have requested with utmost respect, my Lord, that You take form fully. In whatever shape You felt most fitting.”

 **A DARING REQUEST. AND THEN**.

“And then I would show you mine.” His untrustworthy vocal cords, Mairon realized, had left him with only a whisper in which to explain this, the most important part of his plan. “And outline its properties, and with Your leave, set them to Your pleasure.”

His hands were shaking, but he lifted them regardless. And before the shining gaze of the Lord of the World, Mairon removed his first material layer.

From his head, he pulled an iron-wrought diadem, and from his mane, the sharp straight pins that held it decorously back. From his waist, he untied a sash of gold, and from his shoulders, pushed back robes of black and crimson.

There were no garments beneath these. More evidence still of his presumption.

 **MINE ADMIRABLE ONE**. But the Lord of the World did not seem displeased with him.

It was Mairon’s best form to date – bipedal and upright in the manner of the Children, and largely hairless save for the mane atop his head, near as gold as the sashes he favored. Pale, much like the lost ones who had never been lured across the Sea, and lean with the muscles that a truly incarnate creature would have built over the course of a life lived working and hunting. Male, with a neat package of genitals that, by his observation, could be put to the pleasurable torment of either party.

This form had been shaped and refined as Mairon’s greatest weapon. It was like enough to the Children’s in height and in build that it could lull even the most hardened of prisoners into complacency, yet powerful enough to be put to work in the forge or upon the field, while still also commanding enough that he wore it within the council chambers unabashed despite the greater height and breadth of the Valaraukar.

He was proud of it, despite its shortcomings. And long had he dreamed of how it might be put to other uses for the Lord of the World.

 **THIS IS WHAT THOU HAST BUILT FOR THINE SELF.** The Lord of the World and His gaze never wavered.

“Yes.” Mairon drew his hands across his chest, down his belly, about his sex. “Besides its functionality, it has its own appeals for pleasure.”

**THIS IS WHY THOU WOULDST PLEAD FOR MINE FORM.**

“Yes.” And now, adding to the malfunction of his twisting vocal chords, Mairon’s mouth was growing dry. His voice rasped worse than ever. “Yes, my Lord. If it please You.”

 **MELKOR**. And with this last reminder, the Lord of the World shifted forward to meet him.

The form He assumed was also male, also bipedal, also upright, and yet. He stood taller than Mairon by two full heads, with skin the shade of volcanic smoke and a mane dark as night, all struck through with shining veins of gold, and his eyes were dark without pupil or striation.  

Mairon had never dreamed. . .

**“Thou hadst imagined I tempted the Children in a form unlike their own.”**

Well, no, now that the Lord of the World mentioned it, Mairon realized that of course He would have assumed a form like enough to the Children so as not to scare them, while also unlike enough to highlight His godhood. But knowing _that_ , and seeing _this_ , were two utterly different propositions.

“ _My_ _Lord_.“

 **“Melkor, Mine admirable one.”** His hands, rising to lie atop Mairon’s hips, were cool as rain.

“My Lord Melkor.” Mairon would never be able to affect the remainder of his plan now, distracted as he was by this embodiment of perfection.

The Lord of the World’s new mouth stretched, thin dark lips pulling back to expose pale sharp teeth. **“Explain Mine appeal to thee.”**

How could he even begin to articulate. . . “Words desert me in my greatest need, my Lord Melkor.”

Those thin lips pulled back further, a long tongue appearing to lick at their surface. An animal cry wrenched itself from Mairon’s throat.

 **“Explain then thine form’s appeal to Me.”** His hands curled tighter about Mairon’s hips before one lifted, rose, to light at the side of his face, turning it this way and that as the Lord of the World examined his features, and then slipped away again to slide lower, and lower, and lower still.

Mairon did not think his own voice was normally this deep. “From what I have observed – _nnnnngh_ – physical pleasure may be put down to texture and temperature. The relative softness and warmth – _aaah_ – of one body is often gratifying against another, and – _hhhngh_ – the interior of any cavity will of course be warmer still. This particular form has two natural such cavities for Your gratification, or You may of course prepare another wherever You – _aaa_ – please, and I will sustain any damages until You have completed Your use of _iiiiit_. . .”

Likely he would have regretted this incoherency, had he the dignity or will left over to spare, but Mairon did not. He was realizing the drawback to having designed and run his experiments upon the less damaged of the prisoners, for no amount of observation could have prepared him for the onslaught of sensation that would accompany the same actions when played out upon his own body, or for the surging demands that his body would then make in search of further, more specific sensation yet.

The Lord of the World watched him with interest as he writhed. **“Thine case is convincing, Mine admirable one.”**

It was a struggle to retain enough breath to respond to this, but oh, respond Mairon must. “My lord Melkor – _nnngh_ – oh, my Lord, we have barely even – _aaaah_  – we have barely even begun.” Odd, how the body - itself a possession, an extension, of the self - was most stirred by the thought of another, gaining or surrendering its own possession. . .

Grey brows rose, and Mairon, despite the overwhelming stimuli, found he had the spare strength still to smile.

**“Show Me.”**

“With greatest pleasure, my Lord.”

Mairon had knelt, many times, for this very Being, but none of those other times – _none of them_ – compared to this.


	2. ii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wasn't going to, but what can I say - Morgause, that exclamation about the first chapter ending where it did got to the muse, and so here we are 
> 
> (i'm so sorry)
> 
> note: dubcon is Mairon/Mairon's learning methods

It should have been awkward, and – well, it was. Just a little.

Not the kneeling – for Mairon had knelt for the Lord of the World many times before, to demonstrate fealty or respect or obeisance before His throne – but instead, awkward in the knowledge of _why_ he was doing so this time.

_He had made his advances to the Lord of the World and they had been favorably received. . ._

With their respective heights, kneeling situated him very well indeed to observe how fully the Lord of the World had granted his pleas to take material form.

Mairon spared a moment to be grateful that His obvious preference fell well within Mairon’s own range of reference. His investigations had run along the most common sexual configurations of several major species, the Children chief among them, so Mairon could be confident that he knew what to do, now faced with this particular type of the male organ.

Obviously his conclusions then were colored by the identity of the One he would please now, but – surely the mechanics of offering one’s self were largely the same?

 A great cool hand came to rest at the back of his head, fingers working to gather up his hair in a gentle grip as if – _nngh_ – the handful of it might serve Him as reins, by which He would direct Mairon’s attentions.

**“But for all thine clamor thou wilt not touch Me. Mine admirable one.”**

No no no, he would touch, oh how he would touch, if only he could get over the lingering hesitation that stemmed from knowing how he could not be worthy of laying even a hand to such a One. . .

“I am afraid, my Lord,” Mairon admitted. The words came out softer, more hesitant than he would have wished, but then, he would also have wished that they need never have come out at all! “It is just – I know how I would please you, and yet. . .”

**“Yet.”**

He had had some silly notion that his body would be better, or more satisfying, if it had never been put to this use by any, or for any, other than Him, but – now, in the crucial moment, its inexperience and his were showing, and not to his advantage. Mairon had had suppler subjects – those still fresh enough to the mines that they retained all their original limbs and organs, and had not yet contracted one of the many maladies he was still working to eradicate from among the crowded populations – demonstrate for him every arrangement they could recall, over and over until he had memorized the motions of the most obviously popular, but now, faced with the challenge of enacting one himself, he. . .

No, no excuses. He had been given a chance that he did not deserve, and he would school his body to take the pain that must necessarily come of it.

Mairon leaned forward, arranging his lips in a kiss.

The hand that had taken up residence within his hair tightened, and above his bowed head, the Lord of the World gave an avalanching groan.  

That – that was all it took? Oh. _Oh_. Why, that was neither difficult nor demanding at all!

Emboldened, Mairon raised his hand – trembling, he noted with distant annoyance, why did this damned thing always _shake_ so – and curled it gently around the base of the organ at his lips. A second kiss he bestowed to follow the first, then a third, and a fourth, and wait, what had they shown him was best done next. . .

He slid his lips open and took the object of his adoration into his mouth, teeth tucked carefully behind his lips and tongue flattened to create its bed.  

A second of thundering silence followed.

_What had they shown him what had they shown him what had they shown him. . ._

He drew the tip of that great organ in further still, and contracted the muscles of both lip and mouth to create a partial vacuum, as though he intended to ingest a morsel, and not – as he had seen would actually happen – create a pleasing suction upon an area concentrated with sensitive nervous endings.  

Half a second more of thundering silence, and then –

Then the Lord of the World cried out His pleasure, a deep shout that resounded about all the confines of that chamber before settling to sink, vibrating still, within Mairon’s very bones.

Why his subjects had always wept when performing such acts for his observation, Mairon had not the faintest idea, for this was –

Then the Lord of the World gripped harder at the back of his head, and thrust Himself forward with startling speed.

Mairon’s mouth was not large enough to house Him, and so a fair length penetrated further, into and down his very throat. Then the Lord of the World withdrew to His previous position, before plunging forward again, and again, and again.     

Mairon’s body convulsed in protest beneath the unexpected onslaught, and Mairon, overcome by his initial shock, scrambled to master it. Its basest urges were to expel the intrusion, perhaps by ejecting its own contents through the same orifice, and then to work the lungs into overtime seeking the air currently obstructed from them. Warning after warning flooded his system: the jaw was near to being overstretched from its place, the breathing passageway was blocked, the hair was close to being torn from his head – cautionary after cautionary after cautionary – and it was only with difficulty that Mairon resisted them all.

Ah. So. Here were the difficulties that his subjects had always encountered, and they were not inconsiderable. In fact, he had greater respect for the construction of their frames and the strength of their wills that they managed this feat at all!  And yet. Mairon was not of the Children, nor were their limitations his, and he sought far greater stakes than all his subjects combined, for all that they had faced cessation did they refuse any performance for him.

It was no great matter to unhinge his jaw, no true trouble to speed up his breathing so that his ridiculous lungs might take in and force out the minimum of air needed, timed around each thrust. It took little time, once he had stopped heeding those extraneous cautionaries, to observe the approximate pattern to which his mouth was subjected and calculate the optimal response with which he might meet it.

And when he did, Mairon knelt up straighter again – how careless, that he had allowed his posture to falter while trying to sort out internal issues – so that he might curl his tongue into an agreeable concavity for each push inward, and then let it lie lax, applying suction with the rest of the mouth instead, for each pull outward.  He replaced the hand that was not holding his lax jaw in place with its twin, and, as the entirety of that great organ periodically entered him up to its own base, let his free fingers wander as they would in the area behind it, where they encountered a sensitive pair of sacs not unlike his own, and worshipped those as his mouth did their counterpart.

There! Sorted. And the Lord of the World seemed to agree, for He seemed to expand in circumference and stiffness within Mairon’s mouth, until, with one last cry, He spent, as Mairon had seen the majority of his male subjects do.

And here was yet another dilemma – what was he to do now? Upon accepting such a load his subjects had always spat it back out, and rubbed at their mouths, as if displeased with the receipt.

But Mairon was not of the Children, and he was neither much harmed nor at all repulsed by that which he had been given, as they often seemed to be. How could he demonstrate that he knew himself to be honored?

Well. He would improvise, and do as he saw fit. Hadn’t he always?

He subjugated the urgings of his overworked body and swallowed.

He had done it. He had done it!

His body, overwhelmed by the requirements so recently placed upon it, slumped to the chamber floor as if its bones had been removed, and Mairon was pleased enough by his own success that he simply let it.

The Lord of the World did not seem unaffected, either, though He retained His place standing.

**“Mine admirable one. Well hast thou learned, whatever thine source.”**

He had been pleased? Mairon could have danced for the joy of it, were his body not so utterly spent. Instead, from his prostration, he lifted and clicked his jaw back into place that he might respond with as much dignity as remained to him.

“Then the honor is mine, my Lord.” He attempted a smile with the re-aligned jaw, and was overjoyed to see the faintest echo upon the lips of the Lord of the World. “I could not have dreamed of better.”

Then, still with that faintest of smiles, the Lord of the World bent low, and

_– what, why –_

with His own two hands, lifted Mairon’s body as though it weighed nothing

and simply

carried him

away

to the bed,

where He deposited him atop the very coverings that Mairon had commissioned for His enjoyment.

Did He – no, He could not – but _did He know_ what base, base dreams Mairon had at times presumed to fantasize about this very site?

“My Lord?” He dared not move, dared not stir, lest he dash whatever this might be.

**“Perhaps thou wilt become accustomed to Mine name shouldst thou attempt it enough. Melkor.”**

He had finished with Mairon, had He not? He had taken His pleasure, and Mairon had served His purposes, and yet still He would permit – no, _encourage_ – him to use His right Name?

Mairon’s body had been too overwhelmed, before, to stir or rise as had the Lord of the World’s. Now, though – now it seemed that it would.

“My Lord Melkor?”

Thin grey lips drew back; starless eyes pierced him through.

**“Good. Now. Thou hadst claimed before that there were two for Mine use.”**

Two? Two – oh.

Two cavities, Mairon had promised Him.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

“ _Yes_.” He stirred, now; he rose. “Oh my Lord – my Lord Melkor – yes!”

One great hand rose to cup him in its temperate palm. He could not contain his cry.

**“Art still afraid now.”**

“No, my Lord.” How to explain that silly slip from before Mairon had tasted of his Lord, made when Mairon had not known all that he was or all that he could do.  . . “Please, my Lord, I – _nngh_ , my Lord _Melkor_! I will do better, I _will_! – I meant not that I was afraid, or that I felt fear, save that of failing You!”

**“Thou wouldst claim thou dost not fear Me. Who could destroy thee with a thought. Explain.”**

There was no fear in Mairon’s service itself – no trepidation, no distress, no horror, in anything that he was compelled to do. The Lord of the World had long proven His right to all Mairon was.

The only fear – ever – was that Mairon would falter in that with which he had been charged, whatever it might be.

“Your power, my Lord – _Melkor_! My Lord _Melkor_!” His shrieks sounded frenzied even to his own disordered senses, and yet. By the inescapable tightening of that great hand about his most sensitive places Mairon was not permitted to forego the Name any longer, and that alone could have transported him to ecstasy, let alone when the touch was coupled with – intended to produce – his own iterations of that most hallowed Word. “I fear not Your might nor Your splendor, nor even, should I incite it – _aaaah_ \- Your anger!”

Fear was uneconomical, and stifling, and oh-so-unnecessary, when one might channel those same energies into the productivity of adoration, of zeal

~~of love~~

instead.

He needed not say it for the Lord of the World to hear it.

**“Release thyself for Me to see.”**

And so Mairon did.

He had not known that one could return so close to the Place from which they had come Before, and especially not by any mechanical or material means.

And when, afterwards, he cried, softly, for that which he had glimpsed anew, and lost again just as fast – the Lord of the World pressed a chaste kiss to his brow.

It burned as chill and as tender as had His hand, and the silence that followed now was as soft as it had been strident before.

Mairon needed no more convincing to follow the Lord of the World. Indeed, he had not needed any such convincing in a very, very long time.

But if he had – oh, this would have been more than enough to tip him over that edge. That he had been shown all that he had – and that the Lord of the World would have deigned to stain His own hand to illustrate it to Mairon thus –

Words failed him, yet again.

When Mairon had recovered himself enough to leverage his body mostly upright, he found that the Lord of the World had taken a seat, near beside him upon the great bed.

“Thank You.”

_For everything._

**“Thou art closest to full deserving.”**

Evidently there was one last tear that his body would shed. “My Lord Melkor.”

And then it struck him.

“My Lord Melkor.”

**“Mine admirable one.”**

“My Lord Melkor. You – You pleasured me.”

Grey brows rose.

“Oh, no, I am not dissatisfied – far from it! But, my Lord – my Lord Melkor! – there is still further use You would have made of me, had I not interrupted You.”

The Lord of the World considered this.

**“Dost desire this.”**

Of course he desired it – _that_ was not even in question. No matter that he had seen it pain his subjects – particularly male recipients, those whose bodies were configured much as was his – even more greatly than that which he had already done.

“I do.”

He did. And yet. . .

“But of more import still, I have seen that it is deemed a greater thing to give. And to You – for You – I would give all that I can.”

The Lord of the World rose from His place, seated near at Mairon’s side.

**“Is’t so.”**

Mairon’s spirit seemed almost to distance itself from his body, quite without his volition. He felt light-headed.

This was happening.

“It is so, my Lord.” And he left off the Name quite deliberately this time, just so that the Lord of the World would reach for him, encircle him, admonish him with a press of His great hand.

“ _My Lord Melkor!”_

**“Scarce art thou taught before thou wilt twist thine knowledge to thine own ends. O Mine admirable one. Arrange thyself.”**

Oh, the range of choices available to him! Over the course of his experiments, Mairon had seen that each option had its merits for the one who would take.

So, now. If he knelt facing forward, it would take but a touch to signal that he was to prostrate himself all the way, presenting only those parts of his body that were of the most inherent interest, now that his mouth had been thoroughly used and his sex thoroughly spent. Then, too, this way the Lord of the World would receive a suppliant body, best suited to demonstrate the adoration He was due. And then, too, if kneeling for Him, then Mairon’s body could be most easily re-arranged as He pleased.

Or. Did Mairon kneel facing Him, his own muscles would be the ones made to expend the effort of movement, and the Lord of the World might lie or sit back and simply watch him labor.

Or. Did Mairon dare lie back, as though _he_ were the sovereign deserving of worship who would look upon a lover’s face as that lover crawled up his body to greet him. . .

No, no.

Mairon knelt, rising up on his knees and facing away from the Lord of the World. “I am prepared.”

He had been right in this, at least – he was touched. A great hand was lain gently to the base of his spine, and the broad flat of it nudged him, encouraging.

His breath quickened, and he bent as it urged him. All above his waist inclined, downward, into the meager support of his arms, crossed above his head; all below his waist inclined, upward, as his knees remained fixed in their place.

The hand at the small of his back drifted away, then, to his flank. Then, joined by its twin, Mairon felt them sweep down his hips and back over his rear. Cool fingers examined him, locating the spot he had presented for their consideration.

He had not thought his body had sound left to give, but so it seemed that it did. It wailed at no more than that lightest of touches.

**“Thou wouldst accommodate Me here. As thou art.”**

He could. He was not of the Children, and his body would be healed of whatever venture he undertook in it.

“I-“ His voice shook. “I would, my Lord.”

How could Mairon have forgotten that He could still reach his sex, should Mairon forget the full address? “Melkor! My Lord Melkor!”

**“Good.”**

The hands left him bereft, and he moaned at the loss. But then the bed dipped, and its frame groaned, and he trembled anew – the Lord of the World had joined him, then.

**“Thou art sure.”**

He was. He would not demand that the Lord of the World wait upon him with oils or fingers, he would not delay His pleasure with the time it took to prepare a body that Mairon could simply pry open himself.

For Mairon had seen that it could be done this way, and so he would do it too. “Yes.”

Oh, but – _oh_ – _ai_ –

His fingers scrabbled for purchase against the fine cloth, even as he willed himself open, wider – wider – wider still.

no perhaps the Children had been on to something with all their fuss about the manual approach _for_ _it hurt it hurt it hurt so badly surely he would be rent in two where is your pride now arrogant one_

A single breath, an exhale, punched itself from his lungs.

_why did it not take faster_

Blood could slick, too, could it not? Yes, that would do it.

_~~father help me~~ _

and then there was no more. Mairon could feel Him – His skin, His strength – all along the length of his legs and back.

**“Thou art pained.”**

“Little – little matter.” He could barely speak.

**“In other ways could this have been done.”**

“ _No_.” Well, yes – _maybe_ – but: “It is my gift.”

**“Thy pain. Thy damages. Thy committal to them in Mine service.”**

Yes. “Everything.”

When the Lord of the World rumbled in acknowledgement, Mairon could feel the tremors of His voice down to his very core where He was lodged.

**“Thine offerings are seen. Accepted. But thou needst bear the excess of them no more.”**

And then His hand returned to smoothing down Mairon’s flank, and – oh.

Oh.

Beneath His touch, the pain of Mairon’s arrogance and his foolhardiness and his pride vanished. His body was remade, renewed, as though prepared for years to house Him, smooth and easy as a sword into a well-kept sheath.

Mairon had said His Name many times already this day – had toyed with it, even, courting His touch where he deserved it not, and yet.

Mairon had not said It, cried It, with all the utter reverence and devotion that It – and He – were due.

_“My Lord Melkor!”_

**“Mine admirable one,”** the Lord of the World echoed, soft and low.

And then He moved, and Mairon’s body cried out that it could see all the stars.


End file.
